“What if the things we name and love, we still don’t love enough to save?”

Yesterday, the robins returned to our yard. We saw them through the living room window on the western side of the house, a small flock of them flitting between the branches of the tallest ash in the tree break. It was a damp, gray day, and they were far enough away that it was difficult to make out the burnt-orange feathers of their breasts, but the plump curve of their bellies and the stuttered…